Gospels
by Alatariel Narmolanya
Summary: Told from each member of the Fellowship's point of view, Gandalf's fall hurts all of them, each in a different way. But it also brings hope and rest.
1. Aragorn

**Aragorn**

The Fellowship is afraid. I know so; their eyes are wandering and nervous, showing the pain in each and every one of them. For Gandalf, Mithrandir, and he of other names have fallen in the Mines of Moria.

My feelings toward this - this thing is mixed. I am sorrowful and angry, bemused and afraid. Have I not told him to beware if he was to pass through the Mines of Moria? I have been there once, and passed through, but just barely. I should have known. I would not have let Gandalf go. Yet in my heart I know that it would have been no different.

Even now the Fellowship looks at me, wanting me to make a choice, a decision that would decide the road we would walk on. Legolas gives a hopeful, trusting look that tells me he knows I will do well, and I am grateful to him. The hobbits are talking amongst themselves, in hushed tones, rather than in the excited shout or laugh they usually talk in. Gimli is polishing his axe, avoiding Haldir's or Legolas' face, as he does not like Elves.

And Boromir? He looks at me with scorn, daring me. He is proud - and his pride had been hurt when Legolas revealed I to be of Isildur's heir. I understand why. His father is the Steward of Gondor. If I claimed my throne, what would happen to him? Yet he... He hates me... He fears me for what I am.

I fear myself for what I am...

Pippin, probably the youngest and the least experienced of our Fellowship, had started it all, yet I feel no anger toward him. He looks so scared now, so alone... He was only curious when he had dropped that stone and bucket into the deep, dark chasm where we had rested some nights ago. We had hoped for the best; wishing that the Enemy would not be aroused by this new noise. We had been creeping in the darkness without attracting attention.. Until then.

There had been drums; drums in the deep. I had heard the same so many years ago, when I had passed through Khazad-Dum for the first time. It had seemed a nightmare reoccuring, and the Orcs crowded after us. The first few skirmishes were fine, but what haunts me the most - after the incident of the Barlog - was with the cave trolls.

Cave trolls are not an Enemy you would want to face alone. I, myself, have only fought them a couple of times. The Enemy sent two at us now, and despite all our flashes of swords and bravery we could not overcome them. Without Legolas we would have been dead, and I am grateful toward him. More than once in the past he has saved my neck. However, before Legolas could kill the other one of the two, it had gotten Frodo.

I had been knocked out by the same troll, and it was only after Legolas slew the monster I came around. It was then I saw Frodo, a spear in his chest and looking for all the world dead.

I felt so confused then. So the Ring-Bearer was dead. What did I do with the Ring? What did we all? I felt I was tempted back then. With that Ring I could restore the cities, including the city of Gondor. Maybe then I would not fall into the shadows as Isildur had, and claim my throne. With that Ring I would gain power, and destroy the Dark Lord of Mordor. And what of Frodo?

I had crept toward him, half of me wishing he was alive and fine, half of me - the half tempted by the Ring - not so. When Frodo bewilderdly opened his eyes, I was both shocked, overjoyed, and the temptation of the Ring was gone. How could Frodo have survived? Tending to his wounds, I muttered, "You should be dead! That spear would have skewered a wild boar!"

Gandalf smiled - in his special vague, mysterious way all Istari smile, I suppose - and said, "I think there is more to this hobbit than meets the eye."

Indeed Frodo was more than he seemed. He revealed that he was wearing a chain of mithril. Never had I seen armor so beautiful: white and sparkling, and as the tales said, hard as dragon-scales and light as a feather. I guessed that Frodo had recieved this treasure from Bilbo, who had given his sword, Sting, to him as well. I knew of Bilbo's role in the slaying of Smaug and more besides. Frodo indeed said that Bilbo had given it to him, and the other hobbits said they had guessed so.

It was time to move on, however. The drums still chased us.

We ran for the bridges - they would alone take us to the exit of this hell. Before we could reach it, however, the Orcs surrounded us, snarling. But I wasn't very afraid, or even concious... Getting the Ring-Bearer alive and across was the main point, with the others if I could. It was then that the drums stopped, and the Orcs froze.

They scurried away like black ants, and as we turned around, we could see fiery entails coming from a deep, unknown chamber. Gandalf stared down the hall, and we, the Fellowship, stood alone in the midst, with only the red light and Gandalf's light from his staff lighting us.

"What is this new deviliry?" Boromir muttered, glancing around nervously. He was a proud man, a man of Gondor. He did not accept me, for he was the son of the Steward and I of Isildur's line. But then, I think, I was closer to him. We all were. We were the Fellowship of the Ring.

Gandalf did not respond for a moment. I looked at him. At first glance he appeared an old man, troubled, but he had a strong, wise side to him, that was hidden away. He had guided me for a long time, and I followed it. He never had seemed afraid to me. Never. Until now.

There were rumbles now, along the hallway. Gandalf closed his eyes, as if to concentrate, and then reopened them. He whispered - "A Barlog - a demon of the ancient world." Valar. A Barlog. Lord Glorfindel, a mighty warrior who I knew, had fought one once. He had barely won.

The Barlog was still hidden behind the pillars, but we could all hear its growls.

I glanced over at Legolas. His deep blue eyes were troubled and full with fear. He too, knew of the tale of Glorfindel and the fight with the Barlog.

Gandalf saw us hesitate and freeze. "This foe is beyond any of you," he said, turning and running, motioning for us to follow. "Run!"

And run we did. "Quickly!" Gandalf all sheperded us. Even at this time he seemed to know what exactly to do. I admired him for that.

We ran for the Bridge. The whole event is blurry to me, yet I remember Boromir almost falling and Legolas preventing him. I also remember a bridge which was falling, and Frood and I being the last to cross, making it just barely. But what I remember most is Gandalf's eyes and what he said to me, before we crossed the Bridge.

His clear blue-black eyes were troubled, and they shone with something I had not seen in them before - fear. He was leaning against one of the pillars as he took a last look to check for the others, and he now looked tired and weary - a lot older he now seemed. "Gandalf," I said, troubled myself.

"Lead them on, Aragorn!" he said, his voice urgent. "The Bridge is near!"

I hesitated. What did he mean by this?

"Do as I say," Gandalf shouted over the noise. "Swords are no more use here!"

After crossing a bridge with a gap, Gandalf turned to the Fellowship once more. "Over the bridge! Fly!" We ran over the Bridge of Khazad-Dum, but Gandalf did not follow. In stead he halted in the middle of it, looking back.

Gandalf was to face the Barlog.

The Barlog had the body of a man, and horns on its head. It held a whip and a sword, both fiery and shining reddish-black with the heat, and its eyes were two white flames of madness. _This was madness._Gandalf could not face the Barlog alone! "You cannot pass!" he shouted at the beast, raising his staff.

The rest of us watched, dumbstruck. "Gandalf!" Frodo shouted, trying to warn him. The rest of us did not speak. We froze there, despite the dangers that came flying at us. I knew it was no good. Stubborn Istar. Why couldn't he come to safety for once? Why couldn't he run?

"I am the servant of the Secret Fire, wielder of the flame of Anor! The Dark Fire will not avail to you, Flame of Udun!" Gandalf grew dark and terrible just then, and a circle of pure, white light encircled him. He was mighty and powerful, and he was going to fight the Barlog.

The Barlog seemed to take out its fiery sword, and crashed it down on the Wizard. "Gandalf!" Frodo shouted once more. He was hoping that Gandalf would come back. I myself ran forward.

Gandalf withheld, clenching his teeth and holding with his Elvish sword, Glamdring, and staff. "Go back into the Shadows!" he bellowed once more. "_You... Shall... Not... Pass!_" Even as he spoke the Barlog took out a fiery, thin flame and used it as a whip, swinging it around.

Gandalf then did the most unthinkable thing: he used his own staff against the Bridge that was holding him and the Barlog from the Chasm. Blue, magical sparks of energy danced around him and the Bridge and the Barlog. The Barlog, unaware of this fact, lept onto the Bridge.

The Bridge cracked.

The Barlog fell first, emitting a loud, shrieking growl.The Wizard turned around to us, relief in his eyes. He should not have relaxed. The Barlog's whip grabbed his foot, tripping him and forcing him down. Gandalf was holding onto the edge of the bridge that had not cracked.

"Gandalf!" Frodo screamed. It was from the heart, and it shook me to hear it. He tried to run for Gandalf's hand, but Boromir held him back. It might have seemed cruel, but he was keeping Frodo from the same doom.

Gandalf grasped vainly for the Bridge. He looked at all of us deeply, and then stopped struggling. "Flee, you fools!" he whispered, and then dropped into the Chasm below.

Gandalf had fallen.

Why had he sacrificed himself? He could have ran for the exit as well. But he had to take the extreme. Bitter thoughts ran in me. Why?

He was - had been - the leader. He had cared for us all. That was why he had let the rest of us go, and lept into his own doom as he destroyed the Barlog as well.

He had been the guide. He had guided each and every one of us. In the end he guided himself into his doom.

It wasn't fair. Nothing was fair. Everything was fair. Fairness didn't exist in this world.

That was why he had told me, "Lead them on, Aragorn!" and "Swords are no more use here!" He was warning me beforehand. Warning me that he wouldn't survive, that I or any other of the Fellowship were to interfere.

How could I lead the Fellowship on? There were long distances to go and dangers to weave through and meet. I couldn't. I can't. It was just like with the throne of Gondor. I would fail. What if I failed? What would happen then?

But then Gandalf had shown me how. He had shown me how to lead. And I would. I would lead - and eventually even claim my throne - and if death took me, it would have been the best of me. I would help to destroy the One Ring. He had guided me enough. With his knowledge and strength - and my own - I would prevail. I would save the city of Gondor, help to destroy the Ring... And become King of Gondor. But before all that, I would help the Fellowship.

I would lead this Fellowship on.

For Gandalf.

_"I will. You followed my lead almost to disaster even in the snow, and have said no word of blame. I will follow your lead now - if this last warning does not move you. It is not of the Ring, nor of the others I am thinking of right now, but of you, Gandalf."_

__

Author's Note:... Some people have been asking why have I named this story "Gospels." Gospels, which you would know if you are Christian, like me, consists of the first four books of the Bible (New Testament): Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John. They tell of the birth of Jesus and his life, thus they are the story of his life, adding up to his betrayal.

This story is of Gandalf's fall in the Mines of Moria, and how his supposed death affected the Fellowship. Like the Gospels of the Bible, they are told from the person's viewpoint, or what the person knows what happened/what he wishes to speak of. Indeed you will discover in my "Gospels" that none of the Fellowship talks of the whole story, but hints on some parts and go into details on one part. The other parts - the other people of the Fellowship tell, and the Fellowship collabrate to tell the whole story. Thus it is fitting to name this story "Gospels," in my own opinion. 


	2. Legolas

**

Legolas

**

The Mines of Moria. Damned place.

I look back at the entrance we had just come out of, cursing it silently. It seems to look back at me, feigning innocence. 'It is not my fault that the Wizard had died.' For Gandalf had passed into the Shadows. It still seems unreal to me, to every one of us. It seems a passing dream - nay, a nightmare.

We had to have a way to pass these mountains. Boromir had suggested the Gap of Rohan, but as Aragorn had countered, it was to close to Isengard and Saruman's lair. I had seen Aragorn and Gandalf discuss something intently, both worrying, and I knew that this had been the topic. Other than the Gap of Rohan, crossing through the Mines of Moria - Khazad-Dum - or going over Cahadras were our only choices.

Gandalf and Aragorn choosed Cahadras' Pass. But it had been blocked by a magical storm, called up by Saruman, and the snow had hard effects on the Fellowship. We had endured storms before this, but this was the worst, as this was both Dark Magick and the rage of Cahadras combined into one. I, as an Elf, can walk over snow and was not affected by the coldness, but the other couldn't and was sorely moodified by the chill. Even though I was an Elf, I could not long endure this blizzard. Elves cannot endure nature if Dark Magick and the will of Evil lies behind them.

Only one choice was left for us - the Mines of Moria.

The Dwarf, Gimli, son of Gloin, was elated. His cousin, Balin, appearently, had built a city under there. Khazad-Dum. He promised that we would be greeted and welcomed warmly, and would be taken into shelter until we wished to leave. However I do not think any of us truly believed that, not even Gimli, although we certainly wished for it.

The Mines turned out to be a grave.

Dwarves had been killed, and I sensed goblins had done the massacre. "Goblins," I hissed. But even as we turned to leave we could not. A water monster blocked our way, and it had almost gotten Frodo save for Aragorn, Boromir, and I. When I shot it - after Aragorn had gotten Frodo safely - the water monster shrieked and caused an avalanche, blocking the entrance of the Mines.

I suspected that we were being worked into a trap, each Enemy working for the cause of another.

After some time I started feeling a little sick. There were no stars nor trees to calm and soothe me, and the rocks did not talk to me. Gimli obviously did not notice it, for he was too enraptured by his relatives' and ancestors' creations. I admit that the caves were fascinating. But there was no nature, and only darkness. Only Aragorn seemed to notice that I was getting nervous by this lack of nature, and even he was preoccupied with the journey of the Fellowship. I could not bring myself to admit to the others that I was - literally - afraid of the dark.

It was a four-day long journey, across the Mines. We traveled quickly and silently, being careful not to attract any attention. It was only on the fourth day that there was any trouble.

Gimli led us to a circular room. Dwarven guards' skeletons laid there, slain, and in the middle - shining by a beam of light - was a tomb. Gandalf read the Dwarven runes. "'Here lies Balin, son of Fundin, Lord of Moria.'" He sighed wearily. "He is dead, then. I feared so."

Gimli sobbed. I could understand his pain. As Gandalf picked up a book of some sorts from a nearby dead guard, dusted it and handed over his hat and staff to Pippin, he murmured, "Kilmin malur ni zaram kalil ra narag. Kheled-zâram ... Balin tazlifi." I did not understand what he had said, and I turned my attention back to Gandalf, who had begun reading the book aloud, translating the Dwarven runes. It was a journal, or a record-book.

I suddenly froze. There was a strange presence I could not percieve. Whatever it was, it spoke of trouble. "We must move on.. We must not linger," I spoke softly to Aragorn, but he only nodded and listened to Gandalf.

"...'They have taken the bridge... And the second hall.'" Gimli looked up from his grieving to listen. "'We have barred the gates... But cannot hold them for long. The ground shakes.'

'Drums... Drums in the Deep.'" Gandalf flipped over a bloodstained page. We all tensed. "'We cannot get out. A shadow moves in the dark.'" I began to feel uncomfortable. "'We cannot get out.'" Gandalf paused. "'They are coming!'"

We all jumped as a loud noise sounded. Pippin, looking guilty, edged away from the well-like chasm. Gandalf whipped around and applied a furious gaze to the hobbit. We all knew what had happened.

We didn't speak as waves of crashes sounded, Pippin cringing with each one. Finally, the waves stopped, and I heard Boromir exhale.

"Fool of a Took!" Gandalf snapped, shutting the book. "Throw yourself in the next time and rid yourself of your stupidity!" He snatched his hat and staff from the hobbit, who stood still, looking awkward, embarrassed, and scared.

Then drums in the deep sounded... _Boom... Boom-boom... Boom.. Boom-boom-boom..._

We all froze, and Frodo drew out his sword, Sting. It was glowing an intense blue. "Orcs!" I breathed. The Enemy had found us at last.

The Enemy had found us in the Darkness.

We - the eight who remain - are at Lothlorien now. We have met the Lady and Lord of Lorien, and we are getting some rest and getting ready to sleep. I will not speak further of this event, save that the demon of the deep - a Barlog - and Gandalf battled. Both fell into the darkness. 

Ai, Gandalf! Could you not be wiser? Could you not have saved yourself from the Barlog? From the shadows? We had went needlessly into the Mines.

The memory of Darkness still haunts my mind. I never had understood what death had felt like. I experienced it once. When my Naneth died. It is a long time ago... Only a dull pain is in my heart, both for Naneth and Gandalf. But it doesn't hurt as I had feared. Gandalf had sheltered us from the shadows, even as he entered it.

It wasn't just the shadows I was afraid of. It was death.

I wondered if Gandalf had given me some light to prevent the shadows.

_A Olórin i yaresse…  
Mentaner i Numeherui  
Tírien i Rómenóri…_

Melme nóren sina  
núra ala  
Eäro…

Maiaron i Oiosaila,  
Manan elye etevanne,  
Nórie i malanelye?

Ilfirin nairelma  
ullume nucuvalme.  
Nauva i nauva...

(Olórin who once was…  
Sent by the Lords of the West  
To guard the lands of the East...

Our love for this land  
Is deeper than the deeps  
Of the sea...

Wisest of all Maiar,  
What drove you to leave  
That which you loved?

Yet we will cast all away  
Rather than submit.  
What should be shall be...)  



	3. Gimli

**Gimli**

Why have I ever suggested to travel through the Mines of Moria? I knew in my heart that it might be deserted, destroyed by some evil newly awoken. But in my head I thought that my cousin, Balin, would welcome all of us and we would have a comfortable rest before we went to our destination: Mount Doom. I was wrong.

It was at Cahadras, the evil mountain. We were fine until the Elf of our group, Legolas of the Mirkwood realms, had detected a voice. An evil voice of magick, it cried: "Cuiva nwalca Carnirasse; nai yarvaxea rasselya! (Wake up cruel Redhorn! May your horn be bloodstained!)" Legolas, with his Elvish hearing, heard it immidiately. "There is a fell voice in the air!" the Wood Elf warned, looking to the South. He, unlike the rest of us, could walk on the snow lightly and did not seem to be affected by the cold as much as us. Lucky Elf.

Gandalf knew who that was. Gandalf was the Wizard. _The_ Wizard, the Maiar, if I might say. "It's Saruman!" he yelled, peering through the snow. A heavy blizzard was upon us.

Aragorn, the Ranger and also lineage of Isildur, shouted over the noise. "He's trying to bring down the mountain! Gandalf, we _must_ turn back!"

"No!" Gandalf shouted back. He stepped out to the ledge of the bank, and with his staff raised, he tried to soothe the rage of the storm and the mountain. His firm voice bellowed out into the air, carrying power that was to be revealed in the Mines. "Losto Caradhras, sedho, hodo, nuitho i 'ruith! (Sleep, Caradhras, be still, lie still, hold your wrath!)"

However he was deafened out by another voice, the same voice as before. It was dark and deep, full of dark deeds and secrets that have never been carried out into the light... "Cuiva nwalca Carnirasse; Nai yarvaxea rasselya; taltuva notto-carinnar! (Wake up cruel Redhorn! May your bloodstained horn fall upon enemy heads!)" Just then lightning struck the tip of Cahadras, or so it seemed, and another avalanche struck us. Legolas pulled Gandalf just before he toppled over, and all of us got buried in the snow.

To be buried in the snow is a sleepy, unsafe feeling. I almost slept m'self before I struggled upwards.

Boromir had another idea, in the stead of climbing this mountain. "We must get off the mountain! Make for the Gap of Rohan and take the west road to my city!" Of course. Boromir, the Steward of Gondor's son, was the most tempted by the Ring then any other of us. He might steal the Ring and give it to his father, who might use it for Gondor's - or his - purposes. I did not blame Boromir completely. His city was failng.

Aragorn was of Gondor as well, as he was from Isildur's lineage, but he seemed to care more about destroying the Ring and Evil then using it. Even if Gondor crumbled. He shot back at Boromir, hiding his true intentions to disagreeing. "The Gap of Rohan takes us too close to Isengard!"

It was then I had a, what I thought at the time, a brilliant idea. Gap of Roahn was too close to the Enemy's forces. Saruman had woken Cahadras. "If we cannot pass over the mountain, let us go under it. Let us go through the mines of Moria!" The Mines of Moria my cousin Balin had built.

Gandalf, after some thought, replied: "Since our open attempt on the mountain-pass our plight has become more desperate, I fear. I see now little hope, if we do not soon vanish from sight awhile, and cover our trail. Therefore I advise that we should go neither over the mountains, nor round them, but under them. That is a road at any rate that the Enemy will least expect us to take."

"We do not know what he expeects," argued Boromir, who still stuck to his Gap of Rohan plan. "He may watch all roads, likely and unlikely. In that case enter Moria might be to walk into a trap, hardly better than knocking at the gates of the Dark Tower itself. The name of Moria is black." How dare he speak of Moria like that!

Gandalf stuck to my side. "You speak of what you do not know, when you liken Moria to the stronghold of Sauron. I alone of you have ever been in the dungeons of the Dark Lord, and only in his older and lesser presence at Dol Guldor. Those who pass the gates of Barad-Dur do not return. But I would not lead you into Moria if there was no hope of coming out again. If there are Orcs there, it may prove ill for us, that is true. But most of the Orcs of the Misty Mountains were scattered or destroyed in the Battle of the Five Armies. The Eagles report that the Orcs are gathering again from afar; but there is a hope that Moria is free.

"There is even a chance that Dwarves are there - " He spoke aloud my hopes - "and that in some deep halls of his fathers, Balin, son of Fundin may be found. However it may prove, one must tread the paths it needs chooses!"

"I will tread the paths with you, Gandalf!" I responded. "I will go and look on the halls of Durin, whatever may wait there - if you can find the doors that are shut!" The Mines were entered through a gate, which lay in a secret of the Dwarves.

"Good, Gimli!" Gandalf nodded, appearing up to hope up some. "You encourage me. We will seek the hidden doors together. We will come through. In the ruins of the Dwarves, a dwarf's head will be less easy to bewilder than the Elves of Men or Hobbits. Yet it will not be the first time I will have been to Moria. I have sought there long for Thrain, son of Thror, after he was lost. I passed through, and I came back out alive!"

Aragorn's deep voice spoke now, grimly and seriously, making the mood less hopeful. "I too, once passed the Dimrill Gate," he murmured quietly, "but though I come out again, the memory is very evil. I do not wish to enter Moria a second time."

Probably convinced by the Ranger's words, Pippin said, "And I do not wish to enter is even once!"

"Nor me," muttered Sam. I think the idea of endless halls of stone frightened him, a little.

"Of course not!" said Gandalf. "Who would? But the question is: who will follow me, if I lead you there?'

"I will," I said. I was eager to see Khazad-dum, which was spoken of with wonder among the Dwarves.

"I will," Aragorn said, heavily. Now his message was more grim. It, I think, frightened every one of us, maybe even Gandalf. "You followed my lead almost to disaster even in the snow - " So he was the one who had chose the pass to Cahadras - "and have said no word of blame. I will follow your lead now - if this last warning does not move you. It is not of the Ring, nor of the others I am thinking of right now, but of you, Gandalf. And I say to you:

"If you pass the gates of Moria, beware!"

We nine stood silent for a while, taking in Aragorn's words. Boromir broke the silence.

"I will _not_ go, not unless the vote of the whole Company is against me. What do Legolas and the little folk say? The Ring-Bearer's voice surely must be heard?"

"I do not wish to go to Moria," Legolas murmured. Being an Elf, he probably would miss the trees or something. Elves.

Gandalf hesitated. I could see the hesitation - and fear - in his eyes. What was to be afraid of in Khazad-dum? Or something else? Finally he spoke. "Let the Ringbearer decide."

"We cannot stay here!" Boromir warned. "It will be the death of the hobbits! We have been discussing long enough." He was holding Merry and Pippin up, who were looking drowsy.

"Frodo?" Gandalf turned to the Ring-Bearer.

"We will go through the Mines."

"So be it," Gandalf replied.

I was overjoyed, of course. To see the Mines!

We came to the Walls of Moria. It stood high and relentless, going into the mists above. "The Walls of Moria!" I breathed. After looking up in awe, I could see the Fellowship looking around in slight confusion. "Dwarf gates are invisible when they are closed," I explained.

"Yes, Gimli," Gandalf said. "Their own masters cannot find them, if their secrets are forgotten."

"Why doesn't that surprise me?" Legolas muttered. I grumbled at him - Elves were strange creatures - but did not say nothing. I was too awestruck. Not far from now I would see Balin, and the Halls Of Moria, and much more besides.

A foot splashed, and we saw that it was Frodo. Frodo gasped, pulling out his feet from the shallow edge of the murky pool. Gandalf approached the rock wall between two twisted, gnarled trees, ignoring him.

"Now... let's see. Ithildin - It mirrors only starlight - and moonlight." AS soon as the words were out of his mouth the clouds pulled apart to reveal a full moon. I did not think it was a mere coincedence. The two trees framed now the silvery, visible gate. The silver lines outlined a door formed of two columns beneath an arch with a star in the center. I was awed... The Gate I had never thought to see.

Gandalf traced over the Dwarf runes. "It reads 'The Doors of Durin - Lord of Moria. Speak, friend, and enter.'"

Merry cocked his head. "What do you suppose that means?"

"Oh, it's quite simple. If you are a friend, you speak the password, and the doors will open."

Gandalf then tried out bunches of passwords in every tongue known to him, but it was ultimately Frodo who solved the puzzle. "Speak friend. Gandalf, what is the Elvish word for friend?"

Gandalf looked wearily at him. "'Mellon.'"

The doors opened. So much for long passwords...

The mines turned out to be a — as Boromir so frankly suggested — "a grave." Fallen dwarven guards lay here and there. What had happened? I thought bewilderedly. Legolas knew. "Goblins," he muttered, loading his bow. Aragorn and Boromir unsheathed their swords. It turned out they needed it, as Frodo was attacked by a gigantic water beast — probably being used by the hands of the Enemy. There was no going back, either, as the water-beast sealed the gates as Legolas shot it, bellowing in pain and anger.

The mines… they were unlike anything I have ever seen. Wondrous, magnificent, and … Deserted. I ran to one of the rooms that my father had talked about often. Inside there were slain guards and in the middle of the room, lighted, a white tomb.

"Here lies Balin, son of Fundin, Lord of Moria" was what was inscribed on there.

So Balin was dead. All my hopes had now fled.

Gandalf started reading out from Balin's diary, and I listened intently. "Drums in the deep.." So they had been attacked by Orcs and something worse. They had awoken a new evil…

The new evil turned out to be a Barlog.

My ancestors… They had dug too far and too deep…

The Barlog and Gandalf battled. The eight of us got through, but Gandalf did not. He fell into the shadows even as he slew the Barlog.

I couldn't help feeling guilty. _I_ had offered the suggestion to the Mines. Gandalf, as he accepted my offer, had died. Was I at fault? I had not known about any Barlogs or whatnot at the time. I knew it would be dangerous. I had not listened to my heart, only my desires. Foolish hopes.

What has awakened in the Mines, once so magnificent and the home of light? Only Evil has, and Evil has taken our light.

_Kilmin malur ni zaram kalil ra narag. Kheled-zâram ... Balin tazlifi... Tharkûn tazlifi..._


	4. Boromir

**Boromir**

I knew it. I knew we should not have journeyed through the Mines of Moria. The Gap of Rohan, even it would have been closer to Isengard and thus to Saruman, would have been safer. At least we know what to expect on the ground and under sky.

Yet we, the Fellowship, chose to journey through the Mines of Moria — not over Cahadras, as we had tried, "not over the mountain, nor around it, but under it."

The Fellowship had been traveling for days. I am of the nine who travel to destroy the Ring, although my opinion is that we should still _use_ the Ring to destroy Sauron's forces. It seems that I am alone in that opinion.

Other than I, there are eight others. Four are Hobbits: short, peaceful folk they are, and I have only heard of them briefly and not in great detail. Frodo Baggins, the oldest, bears the Ring. He is small, and I do not know how he will protect it if he is attacked alone. But I see he has great courage, and so I let the matter be.

The other Hobbits are Samwise Gamgee, some sort of servant to Frodo, and Frodo's cousins, Meriadoc Brandybuck and Peregrin Took, also called Merry and Pippin. Sam is the one who does all the cooking, and I do not think so greatly of him, but Merry and Pippin is rather like my younger brother at home when he feels elated. They are young, careless, but fun-loving people, those Hobbits.

There is an Elf and a Dwarf in our company, as well. The Elf, Legolas, seems to be a Prince in his own realms, Mirkwood, for he is the King's son. Gimli is a Dwarf, and I think his lines go back to Misty Mountains, which we were heading for. I have never been in the company of Elves until I was in Rivendell, for the alliance of Elves and Humans are broken. Legolas is fair, and a superior warrior, but he seems — distant, and more linked to nature than to humans, like other Elves. Only Gandalf and Aragorn seem to be able to get through him. Gimli is another good warrior to have at your side. Stout and armed with his battleaxe, he seems to be the exact opposite of the Elf, yet he loves caves and crafting. Legolas and Gimli seem to be friendly enemies. Must be the broken alliance between them.

Gandalf is the Wizard. He is called Mithrandir, and once, the White Rider, in Gondor, and we know him well. He has helped Gondor out many times in history, and I do not usually doubt his wisdom. His council is greatly appreciated, and he seems a lord among the Elves. But my father seems cold to him, and I do not know why. My grandsire, Ecthelion the Second, had approved and welcomed his council after a Gondorian captain, Thorongil, his name was, advised him. I think that might be why, as I have heard that my father and Thorongil were unintentioned rivals.

The last member of the Fellowship is Aragorn. Strider he was called, of at least I knew of him, before revealing his true lineage at the council in Rivendell…. I remember the discussion even now. We had been talking of the ways to destroy the Ring, and I had come up with a new suggestion…

"It is a gift. A gift to the foes of Mordor. Why not use this Ring?" I had asked the council. I got up and started to pace around. "Long has my father, the Steward of Gondor, kept the forces of Mordor at bay. By the blood of our people are your lands kept safe!" It was true. Many warriors died each day to keep the armies of Mordor back. I myself had been in many battles. "Give Gondor the weapon of the enemy. Let us use it against him!"

It was then I had seen Aragorn. I had seen him the day before, when I had been examining the shards of Narsil. His eyes… They were silver fires. I had walked away, for his gaze was not too friendly. Now he responded back, "You cannot wield it! None of us can. It answers to Sauron alone. It has no other master."

I had felt angry then. Who was he? "And what would a Ranger know of this matter?"

One Elf stood up. Later I knew him to be Legolas. "This is no mere ranger. He is Aragorn, son of Arathorn. You owe him your allegiance."

"Aragorn… This… is Isildur's heir?" Shocked, I stopped my pacing and gazed at the "Ranger," who met it coolly.

"And heir to the throne of Gondor." Legolas continued. Heir to the throne, indeed. Isildur and his heirs have been absent from their duty. It was the Stewards who should take the throne; they had been protecting the city for years!

"Havo dad, Legolas," Aragorn muttered, shooting a warning glance. So he was Elf-raised and best friends with an Elf.

"Gondor needs no King," I shot back. _The Stewards can do their duty, unlike you._"Gondor has no King."

There had seemed to be a long silence before the council continued.

Even now I am confused about him. I admit he is the best swordsman one could ever hope to be, and he is wise. But he has not been to Gondor. He is not doing his duty… To lead his people and protect his city. And what about I, my brother, and my father? The Stewards have protected the throne and the city for a long time, being trustworthy and "ruling" well, even in this time of darkness and danger. What would happen then? 

He is clearly of Numenorean and Gondorian race, but strangely he is the farthest away from me in the Fellowship. It is rather Mithrandir, or Gandalf, and Merry and Pippin that I am more familiar with.

And what of the Ring? _They do not listen to me._ They should. Without the Ring the city of Gondor will crumble into ashes. _What then, Ranger from the North? What then, Aragorn, son of Arathron? What will you do then? Do you understand me? My intentions? _

Aragorn seems more bent on destroying the Ring, however, rather than saving his city. He is unlike any other Gondorian or Numenorean man I have ever seen before. Sometimes I see a glint of bemusement, confusion, anger, sorrow, and determination in his silver-blue-green eyes, all at once. Then I wonder I had been too harsh in his judging. He wants to do what he thinks is right, but there are two and he is only a mortal, despite his extended life. To do one thing is to fail the other. When I think that I feel closer to him, like kin, but then his eyes become hard once more.

When we were passing over Cahadras, Frodo — who was nearly at the end of the line and looking tired — tripped over the snow. I reached to help him up, but after Frodo got up, he started looking for something. Of course… The Ring. I spied it, and took it from the ground; it had been hidden by the snow.

The Ring is a plain gold ring, in first looks not very special. But it had the power to save Gondor. The power to save my city, my people…

Apparently I had been holding it for too long, for the Fellowship stared and Aragorn sharply said, "Give the Ring back to Frodo, Boromir."

I had meant to give the Ring back to Frodo, before that. I really had. I didn't know what had come over me: a rage of emotions and thoughts, but only one thought stood above them all: _It has the power to save your city and people… And men will flock to your banner!_ I stared at it once more. "It is a strange fate we should suffer so much fear and doubt…over so small a thing. Such a little thing…" This Ring had split alliances, ruined cities, killed people…

But it had also given power and glory to those who had wielded it.

"Boromir!"

"As you wish," I nodded, handing over the Ring, but my fingers wouldn't give it up completely. I saw Frodo looking at me, his face tortured. "…I care not." Aragorn was a fool. Is a fool. He can claim the Ring if he wants to; he is of Isildur's line. And he could take it by force, as well, I do not disagree that he is physically strong. I admit that he would be a fine captain to serve under, and with the Ring finer.

What drives him not to touch the Ring?

On the second day of Moria, Gandalf and I had a talk. I went over to him, and asked: "How many more days until we reach the end?" I knew the answer already. It was only the continuing silence that unnerved me; forced me to speak with somebody.

The others were already asleep; even Legolas and Aragorn had seemed tired earlier and had gone into sleep or dream-like trance.

"Two days," replied the Wizard. Only I had the first watch, but Mithrandir did not seem to sleep. "You are worried, Boromir, son of Denethor?"

"Perhaps," I muttered. I was not worried. I was concerned.

"It is him, is it not?"

"Who do you mean by him, Mithrandir?"

"You know very well whom I mean, Boromir," Mithrandir's words cut like glass, and his eyes, as well, was all knowing, or so it seemed. "Aragorn. Are you afraid he will take the throne? Are you afraid of what he truly is?"

I stood up. He was reading me like an open book. "No," I said hastily. I have known Gandalf for some years, and knew that it would be no use to lie. I sighed, and told the truth. "Yes. I do not understand what he is… other than a heir of Isildur. I often wonder for my city, Mithrandir. I fear Gondor is falling."

Gandalf had been silent for a few seconds. "We will all hope that that day is not near," he murmured softly. "Boromir — Aragorn can help you and Gondor."

"It does not seem he can."

"Trust him. He was born to be a leader, an heir, a king. You cannot deny him for what he is." Gandalf sighed. "I have known him for many years. Many times he have saved me, and many times I see he can follow his path. So can you, Boromir. Do not fear who will help you in the end." He steadied his dark blue-black eyes upon me, and then sighed once more.

"Get some sleep. This watch is nearly over, and I will take the next one. We will have a long walk next day."

But tired as I was, I did not close my eyes for some time. What Gandalf had said remained in my head, echoing.

We are resting at Lorien borders. Terrible tidings have befallen us… Mithrandir is gone. He has battled a shadow of the past, a Barlog. "Shadow and Flame" is what Legolas and Aragorn calls it. But Mithrandir has died in glory, I think, for he has lead and guided the Fellowship until now.

As we got out, all of us blinked, and then started grieving, each in our own way. The bright light of the day seemed so… unreal, compared to Moria's dark halls and situations. Sam, Merry, and Pippin started sobbing, trying to console each other. Frodo was nowhere to be seen. Gimli threw himself on me, and I vainly tried to calm him as he expelled all his emotions. Legolas stood transfixed, staring out into the woods and mountains far beyond here. I do not think he understands death completely. Such is with the Immortals.

Aragorn wiped his sword and sheathed it. Calling to Legolas, he said, "Legolas, get them up." His face seemed emotionless except his eyes.

So now was he heartless as well? He seemed to have claimed Gandalf's role as leader and guide. "Give them a minute, for pity's sake!" I shouted. I was trying hard for the tears not to flow. Gandalf had been well-loved, both here and in Gondor.

Aragorn responded: "By nightfall these hills will be swarming with Orcs! We must reach the woods of Lothlórien. Come, Boromir, Legolas, Gimli, get them up." He reached down to Sam, offering his hand. I had to agree that he had a good reason. "Sam, get up." He then started looking for Frodo. "Frodo? Frodo!"

Frodo was crying silently. Never have I seen grief and sorrow on his face as he.

Aragorn led us into Lorien, and even now he is conferring with Haldir, the Marchwarden, to let us pass.

"Mae govannen, Legolas Thranduilion," Haldir welcomed Legolas, his own kin, first. Legolas said back, "Govannas vîn gwennen le, Haldir o Lórien." He then turned to Aragorn. "A, Aragorn in Dúnedain istannen le ammen." I do not know what they said, as they spoke in the fair tongue of Elves.

"Haldir," replied Aragorn, bowing his head. It seemed that Haldir, Aragorn, and Legolas knew each other from long ago.

It was Gimli who spoke aloud my mind. "So much for the legendary courtesy of the Elves! Speak words we can also understand!"

Haldir, a being with silvery hair and distant blue eyes, turned to the Dwarf coolly. "We have not had… dealings… with the Dwarves since the Dark Days."

"And you know what this Dwarf says to that? Ishkhaqwi ai durugnul!" Gimli clearly did not like Elves.

Aragorn turned sharply to him. It seemed that he knew the Dwarven language as well. "That was not so courteous," he warned, raising his eyebrows. (That act seemed familiar. I then was reminded of Lord Elrond.)

Haldir paid no attention to Gimli. Instead he glanced over at Frodo. "You bring great evil with you," he muttered, his slightly cold voice colder. "You cannot go farther." Aragorn's face darkened with indignity. They started arguing in Elvish. Legolas stood by Aragorn, offering some phrases now and then. "Boe ammen veriad lîn. Andelu i ven!" Aragorn argued.

Haldir whispered back something.

"Merin le telim." Aragorn's voice was now pleading. Legolas sighed and sat some distance away, letting Aragorn take over completely. Aragorn nodded slightly to Legolas, perhaps in thanks, but he never took his eyes off Haldir. "Henio, aníron boe ammen i dulu lîn!"

Legolas looked over at Frodo, who avoided his gaze uncomfortably. The other hobbits also gazed at him in confusion. Ever since Gandalf had fallen, everybody now seemed so… alone. Separated.

I moved over to Frodo. "Gandalf's death was not in vain...nor would he have you give up hope. You carry a heavy burden, Frodo...don't carry the weight of the dead." I hoped that my words will comfort him.

Aragorn and Haldir are still arguing… In the end probably Aragorn will convince Haldir to let us pass… I think Gandalf was right. And I still wonder: he was wise in so many things. He was _right_in so many things. Why he has fallen into the shadows I do not know.

_"…There is evil there that does not sleep. And the great Eye is ever watchful. It is a barren wasteland. Riddled with fire and ash and dust. The very air you breathe is a poisonous fume. Not with ten thousand men could you do this. It is folly!"_


	5. Sam

**Sam**

Samwise Gamgee is my name, and I'm one of those folk who never really like going off into all sorts of wild adventures. Strange thing is, I find myself in an adventure right now. Some days ago there was a council at Rivendell, and there was a decision that this Ring - it turned out that Bilbo had gotten it from a creature named Gollum, long ago - should be destroyed at Mordor.

Now, don't get me wrong. I like cooking and gardening; peaceful things. But I promised Gandalf that I would look after Mister Frodo, and that's what I'm going to do. I dunno how Mr. Frodo's gardener (me) would do much help - those really big folk like Mr. Strider or Mr. Boromir or Mr. Legolas or Mr. Gimli would do more - but Mr. Frodo is dear to me, so it's off I go to Mordor.

There are a lot of things I don't understand in this world. I don't understand why there's a Ring and Sauron and why there's so much Evil. I don't understand why the Ring tempts so much people. I might not be as bright as other folk around here, but it was in Moria I understood the real danger of this "journey... quest... thing."

In the Shire Mr. Gandalf was one of those queer, but fun-loving folk. Some of the adults thought he was a nusiance, with his big-grey pointy hat and grey robes and his long silver beard. But us younger folk thought better of him, even though we only knew him as a party-celebrater (I suspected Mr. Bilbo and Mr. Frodo always knew what he really was, though). He used to come down into the Shire with his wagon and firecrackers, and show us little magic. The young children would clap their hands and laugh, and the older people would look in awe, too.

But Mr. Gandalf was more than that, as we all discovered in the Fellowship. I think the other people - Mr. Strider, Mr. Legolas, Mr. Gimli, Mr. Boromir, and Mr. Frodo - all knew Gandalf was not just a firecracker-maker.

He's a mighty wizard. He _was_ a mighty Wizard, I should say. His staff was all glowing with light in Moria, and his eyes had something terrible in them. When he was fighting the Barlog, he looked so _powerful._ Like some kind of hero out of Mr. Bilbo's old legends.

You see, we had to go East, and the only routes from Rivendell was to go on the mountain, around the mountain, or under the mountain. We tried going on the mountain - Cahadras, I think its name was — but Gandalf said that Saruman was blocking the way. Saruman is another Wizard, in Isengard, north of a land called Rohan.

It was Mr. Boromir who suggested the way around the mountain — the Gap of Rohan — and Mr. Gimli who suggested the way under the mountain — the Mines of Moria. At first it seemed that Mines of Moria would do jolly and good, but then I heard that there might be Orcs down there.

I wasn't exactly convinced, either, when Mr. Strider — excuse me, Mr. Aragorn — said in this hollow, scary voice that he didn't wish to go to Moria. It seems that Mr. Gandalf and Mr. Aragorn went there once, both survived, but neither liked it.

So we stood on this cold, blizzaring mountain, arguing about where to go. Merry, Pippin, and I were too drowsy to interfere; it was the cold, and we stood there listening.

Mr. Gandalf said that Mr. Frodo could decide where to go. I think Mr. Frodo was a little worried, and a little scared. Now, in the Shire I've never seen him scared, but then, this was a new thing for all of us: going through quests to become heroes or whatnot you become when you destroy a Ring. (I think it was new for all of us. I think.)

Mr. Frodo chose the way of the Mines.

The Mines were dark and a little spooky, if you know what I mean. I once overheard a conversation between Mr. Gandalf and Mr. Frodo about Gollum, that creature who Bilbo got the Ring from, and how he still might be haunting us. It was then I got scared, shut my eyes, and went to sleep, so I don't remember any more of the conversation.

The Mines, Mr. Gimli says, was once really magnificent. You won't believe what it was, he said. A home of light and beauty, and crafting of the Dwarves. I'm sure it had been all wonderful, but I had just wanted to get out of there.

For the first three days we didn't meet anything horrible. On the fourth day...

I think Pippin needs some more common sense in his head. I might not be as smart, but I got good common sense, and I don't get into trouble! Pippin dropped a head thingie and attracted the Orcs. It was a jolly ol', kind of scary fight. I didn't use my sword, though. I used my jolly, good ol' frying pan. (Maybe I should write a book later, called "101 Ways to Use a Frying Pan.")

Mr. Frodo almost got killed, too. There was a big cave troll, and he tried to pierce Mr. Frodo's chest with a spear. Mr. Aragorn tried to save him, but he got knocked out when he was thrown. After Mr. Legolas killed them with his bow and arrows, it turned out that Mr. Frodo wasn't dead at all. He had been given a coat of mithril - along with Sting, his sword - from Mr. Bilbo. So that was what they were doing, back then! Good old Mr. Bilbo! He must know a lot to handle these kind of situations. Even the Fellowship were awed by the mithril coat. I do think it's beautiful, but I was just happy that Mr. Frodo was safe.

Then... It's too horrible to remember! I don't think my Gaffer back at home or anybody else would believe it, although it's awfully sad.

Mr. Gandalf died...

He was mighty and powerful when he had been fighting. The Barlog, a winged, fiery giant, seemed so ... _unpowerful_ next to him. Mr. Gandalf's silvery hair was around him, and he was raising his staff and sword to protect us. Us.

He broke the bridge so the Barlog would fall, but the Barlog grabbed his ankle with the fiery whip.

We had gotten out of the Mines. I can't help remebering what Mr. Aragorn told us, back on Cahadras: the warning to Gandalf to beware in the Mines of Moria.

Mr. Gandalf deserves a full-established lament. I think the Elves would make one. I would try, too, although I can never be as good as them or Mr. Bilbo.

Mr. Gandalf said that we hobbits would be the ones to destroy the Ring. But we're nowhere close to Mordor yet, and he's already gone.

Maybe we Hobbits are made of sterner stuff than we know...

_"It's like in the great stories, Mr. Frodo. The ones that really mattered. Full of darkness and danger they were. And sometimes you didn't want to know the end. Because how could the end be happy?_

"How could the world go back to the way it was when so much bad had happened?

"But in the end, it's only a passing thing, this shadow. Even darkness must pass. A new day will come. And when the sun shines it will shine out the clearer. Those were the stories that stayed with you. That meant something, even if you were too small to understand why. But I think, Mr. Frodo, I do understand. I know now. Folk in those stories had lots of chances of turning back only they didn't. They kept going because they were holding on to something.

"There's some good in the world, Mr. Frodo... And it's worth fighting for." 


End file.
